2003-01-30 - 2:54 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Misty Mountain Hop", Led Zeppelin

Last night I happened by House of Ennui and found an "unsolicited prop" there that made me want to cry.

See, she is the one who introduced me to online journaling, and she was very encouraging of me when I got started. And I've been reading her for over three years and I still always go to her pages and hit "reload" impatiently, hoping she's updated. She's a writer -- not a blatherer like me -- and it shows in the words she chooses and the way she strings them together. Even when she's telling ordinary everyday stories -- her "Bad Mommy" archive is my favorite -- or perhaps especially then, the way she writes it is what makes it so enjoyable.

So, given how much I admire her writing, like her personally, and know what she thinks of online journals and "Freaks and Geeks", getting that prop was like having Julia Child tell me she liked my fruit tart. Thanks, Gnomie. :)

Quote I must remember:

"It's not bellybutton lint, it's lint IN the bellybutton."

Dammit, Poindexter and I have the goofiest conversations that leave me in stitches, and I can never remember them longer than five minutes after we have them. Cursed memory! Poindexter says I need to have a pen and paper next to me at all times. Only problem with that is, constantly stopping to write down our little exchanges is going to wreck the rhythm of it. Sigh. Maybe I need to research some memory tricks.

Anyway. What's the deal with lint in the bellybutton, in the first place? How does it get there? I've never had it -- I've only seen it in guys. Does it have something to do with stomach hair catching little pieces of fluff from clothes?

OK, now I remember one.

Poindexter gives me a hard time because I am often attracted to androgynous actors. Men who don't fit the "manly man" stereotype, but rather the ones whose mannerisms, clothes, and such push gender limits. So Ewan McGregor wearing eyeliner does something weird to my insides. The fact that he's not AFRAID to do something "different" is also attractive. As I've said before, I have an ongoing fantasy life about me with various actors ... very fun.

At the same time, I have a mental block about gay actors. If they're not interested in women, I can't get the internal movie going. It's very disappointing, because it would be nice to put Rupert Everett or Ian McKellan in the little mental movies, but I just can't. There's something about knowing that I have absolutely no chance with these guys -- not even the one chance in a hundred million that I'd have with Ewan McGregor -- that makes it impossible for me to imagine.

So. Poindexter's term for these androgynous men I'm attracted to is "half-a-fag". There's no derision in the term (if you find it derogatory, I apologize; I swear there really isn't any, no more so than "fag hag"), it's just a goofy phrase he thought up. I'll see someone on TV that I think is hot (Heath Ledger, of late), and we get:

Evelynne: Ooo, I'd do him.
Poindexter: Of course you would. He's half-a-fag.

Last night we're talking about "Fellowship of the Rings", and I mention that I don't like Legolas, I like Aragorn.

Poindexter: But Legolas is just your type! He's half-a-fag!
Evelynne: No, in middle-ages flavor movies I tend to go for the manly scruffy ones.
Poindexter: What's wrong with Legolas?
Evelynne: I don't know ... he's too ... he's too clean. He's an ELF. I don't know.
Poindexter: More like seven-eighths-fag?

Perhaps. Too close to "no chance", maybe. :) I do think the actor who plays him is pretty cute, just not with the long blond hair.

I think I mentioned my brother was coming to stay with us. It's fun. He's a 'net geek, a movie geek, and a word geek just like I am, so we have fun geeky conversations. We have a router with four connections, so all three of us sit in the office (we have three small desks) and do our computer shit together, occasionally stopping to chat about stuff.

Plus, since he's still crippled (but improving) he's not out running about the entire time he's not sleeping or showering, so I'm seeing more of him than I used to when he'd visit us in Virginia. We have plans to watch "Grease 2" together, although Poindexter asked with a painful expression that we watch it while he's at work.

Last night he was looking out the window at a weird building that vaguely resembles something, and couldn't decide if he liked it or not. I only caught the tail end of his last comment:

Brother: ... ambiguous.
Evelynne the Word Cop: You mean ambivalent.
Brother: What?
Evelynne: Are you talking about the building itself or your feelings about it?
Brother: My feelings.
Evelynne: Then you're ambivalent. The building itself is ambiguous, maybe, because you're not sure what it's supposed to represent.
Poindexter: Are you sure?
Evelynne: Let's look it up!

My grandfather was always one to go to the dictionary. Sometimes when he would visit, he would bring up a word that he'd read in the newspaper (always the New York Times) and we'd discuss the various flavors of the word and how to spell it and such. If a word came up in conversation and we disagreed over its meaning, out came the dictionary.

Nowadays, we go to webster.com. And I was right. And incidentally, thanks to my grandfather, I know how to spell "supersede".

Gratuitous photo of the day:

This is me in August 1999. It's the shortest my hair has ever been. I wanted to give short hair a try, and some people REALLY liked it, but I felt that it was too conservative for my age. I want to have long hair while I can still get away with it, I guess.

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